Little Christmas
by Laota French
Summary: Holiday Flash-Back, set in London in 1885.


"Do ye see him? That man feeding his cow in the snow? Aye, 'Emmet'. He's seventy years, if he's a day. And look  
at him, out there in the ice and wind of Christmas Eve. Yet he does everything his doctor asks. He takes his pills  
and has all but given up sweets- exceptions being the annul piece of birthday cake. It's getting dark out. The  
clouds have passed over the moon."   
Little Christmas  
Another Low-Budget, BtVS Fanfiction  
by Laota French and Faith Bowie  
Hampstead Heath, 1885   
"He's been seen, this Emmet, at the chapel and gymnasium. He even swims in the ocean, for Christ's sake! If there  
is a god, and He is not I, let Him save these wretched humans from My divine wrath! Yes, I have often compared  
Myself to Christ. He must be flipping in His tomb, over that whore, Magdalen. If there is a Christ, let Him come. Let  
Him smite this deity of damnation-."   
"Are you finished?" asked Spike to Angelus, peering over his shoulder impatiently. "Just kill the bastard and get on  
with it! You know I hate being out 'ere on foot; you do it on purpose."   
"Aw, don't tell me yer frightened of the Haunted Heath, Will?"   
"I'm not frightened, Peaches, I just don't like it. And my feet are starting to numb out in the snow-." Spike was  
quieted by an authoritative hand.   
"Hush. Have some composure- these things take time. Ye can't just wake an unsuspecting cat. Ye've got to stroke  
the beast." Angelus grinned wryly. "Make him want it." Spike rolled his eyes and pushed a lock of blonde hair  
behind his ear.   
"Oh, come on! Just take 'im and let's be done with the whole bloody thing. We left Dru waiting on a bench; she's  
probably two miles from 'ere by now, so let's just have at it so we can bring 'er a bit of someone to eat."   
"Yer so...delightfully naive. We told our Drusilla to see the sites. Twenty pounds finds the lass asleep on the bench  
where we left her." He smirked to himself and offered up a hand to secure the deal, still watching the elderly man.  
Spike let a toothy grin and reached over Angelus' shoulder to shake on it.   
"You've got yourself a bet, mate-." He squinted to see the old man across the pasture at the old man. "Still, I feel  
a pinch guilty, takin' your money like this. I'm practically stealing it from you." Angelus glanced back at his  
companion, wondering why he brought the numbskull. He reached into his gold, satin vest and produced a pocket  
watch. With a fond, warm smile, he turned to Spike and put it in his hand. "Right, now your deliberately trying to  
confuse me. Whut's this for, eh?"   
"Can't I just spoil ye?" Angelus asked, looking hurt by Spike's suspicion.   
"Like hell," he laughed, "I wouldn't turn my back on you for all the jewels in the crown. You tell me whut your after  
by giving me this, or I'll-."   
"You'll what? Leave?" Angelus swept the air with his hand towards Spike in a 'leave me' gesture. The fabricated  
sorrow in his voice tuned to laughter. "What do I care of such matters? Go, then; Be gone with ye, lad. My women  
and I will go on to Paris and ye can enjoy the moors alone."   
"Don't you dare threaten me, mate! I'll walk. I'll walk and I'll take Dru with me!" Spike snarled, starting to throw  
the gift back at Angelus, but to his surprise, the pocket watch was stuck to his hand and wouldn't come off. "Oh,  
bloody hell!" he griped dejectedly. He repeatedly and unsuccessfully tried to throw the watch to the ground, in a  
way that Angelus found endearing, if only for his own amusement.   
"That should keep ye busy for a while, brother. I'll have my meal, and then, I'll have Drusilla." He started walking  
towards the old human, then turned back to Spike. "Oh, and if the carriage is rockin', don't come a knockin'." He  
gave an immoral smile and went about his business of trudging through the snow. Spike's eyes narrowed.   
"You filthy sot! I'll see you at the end of a branch for this, I swear it! ...Do you 'ear me!?" Angelus walked on,  
dismissing Spikes words as the ravings of a mad man. He had other things, but decided that one last taunt couldn't  
hurt. He swung back around, but kept his distance.   
"Very well, my young friend. Ye want me? Here I am, but take care to put yer watch down first, so it doesn't get  
broken." He left it at that and walked on.   
"Poofter."   
Angelus approached the man, creeping up behind him with a slow stride, but making no extra effort to be silent,  
for if the man did turn around, what then? Then Angelus would just look as a nice, lost, young man to him. He  
would take him in, and maybe, offer him a meal. The British country folk are infamously hospitable. Angelus would  
talk to the man, get to know him. Asking questions made your attachment to them stronger, and the kill that much  
more brutal. The more he thought about it, the more he decided it was what he wanted. He tapped the old man  
on the shoulder.   
"Excuse me, Sir. I seem to have lost me bearing. If ye'd be so kind as to direct me the way to Bloomsbury? I've  
made a plan to meet mother there- she's so very excited, and I don't want to disappoint the dear. Her wee heart  
cannot take another Christmas alone...." Angelus tried to look innocent, but the smirk should have given him away.  
The man turned around and looked Angelus up and down.   
"You're a mick, ain't ya?" the man asked with an apparent Brooklyn accent. Angelus was stupefied. How could he  
have missed that in his meticulous surmise?   
"Mick, sir? I am Irish. Why do you ask me this?" The man put his hands up and snorted.   
"Dere'll be no paddies in my house! I got a wife and daughters, and you ain't gettin' ya grubby hands on em! Ya  
here me, kid? No paddies! I ain't givin' ya nothin'!" Angelus looked at the man, flabbergasted. Could he really be  
serious? His charade continued despite the opposition.   
"Look, sir, all I'm asking is directions..."   
"Directions, ya say? Oh, well in dat case, why don't ya take ya sweetheart over dere,-" the man motioned to Spike,  
who sat on the crossing of a fence, wrestling with a watch,- "and da two of yous can catch a train to hell! Whadda  
ya say to dat, Blarney? Dat is ya name, idden't it?"  
* * *   
Spike sat alone on the snowy fence, completely crestfallen. Angelus had won again. But then, he always did. It  
should've come as no surprise.   
"We're leavin'!" Angelus barked, out of nowhere. He stormed past Spike through the snow, his face vamped-out  
and flushed with blood. "Come on, let's get goin'."   
"So soon?" Spike asked, snottily. "What happened to, 'stroking the beast,' and whatall?"   
"Change of plans. Let's go."   
"No, wait, now you've got me curious. Show me your work-. Let's see 'ow you made 'im want it!"   
"Yeah? How's yer hand? Let's go."   
"Nice, I almost forgot!" Spike shadowed in the wake of Angelus' tantrum and eventually caught up with him.   
They walked Southeastward for over an hour, through the rushes of frozen grass and the fallen snow, around inns  
and old roads. The city lights of London made a bright horizon of orange and white, almost as if the sun was about  
to rise. They walked on, wordlessly. Angelus was stewing and Spike had to stop himself from becoming hysterical  
with laughter.   
They heard the tolling of Ben. Eight o'clock in London town, round about Kensington. To Angelus, London meant  
Westminster and the Globe Theater; the White Tower. Funny accents. But to Spike, London was just London. It  
was home.   
They came upon the lights of the great capital city, the sites and sounds arousing the focused senses of the  
vampires, and it became difficult for Angelus to shake away his demon face. They watched the people mindlessly  
going about their tasks, all eager to get home before the night was over. Some unfortunate men roamed the  
streets to find open shops with last minute touches and gifts for wives, mothers, and children. Perfect prey for  
demons. Some would never come home again, let alone in time for Christmas morning. Londoners. Too busy to  
notice the supernatural that hid itself in their midst.   
Looking as nothing but two oddly paired Englishmen, Spike and Angelus moved silently into the deserted street  
and came upon the bench that had once held Drusilla. Not even a trace of her was left. Angelus looked around in  
distaste after losing his sure bet.   
"Well," Spike started, "I think somebody owes someone twenty pounds. What do you think, old man?" Angelus  
looked down at him, pretending that he wasn't paying attention.   
"Twenty pounds? What a generous gift. I'll accept it on the morning." Spike went nearly speechless. He knew that  
something just happened, or he wouldn't be out forty pounds.   
"Wait...whut just happened 'ere? Are you crazy? You just said...."   
"...Yes?" Angelus raised a brow, mockingly.   
"Well, now you've gone messed me up!"   
"Somethin' wrong?"   
"Oh, no, everything's fine. I'm just gonna kick your ass, nothing to get hung up on."   
"Is that so?" Angelus looked interested, but was growing angry at his underling's constant threats. As his anger  
culminated, the Irish in his accent became stronger. "And 'ow do ye expect that will end, Will? Or do ya not have  
the brass to tell me? Oh, is it a secret?" He touched his upper lip with his fingertips as if aghast.   
Irish. Spike knew what that meant, all too well. He still had the scars from the last thrashing that 'Irish Angelus'  
had dealt him. Angelus started to crowd Spike, who backed away, his hand up in defense at his sire.   
"Look, mate, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just 'aving a bit of sport with you, is all. You know, fun?" Angelus  
smiled warmly, still moving towards him. His face morphed underneath his skin, revealing the demon within to his  
now recoiling novice.   
"Aye," Angelus muttered, "fun."   
"Oh, son of a bitch!" Spike gave up and turned on his heal, taking off down a nearby back road, Angelus close at  
hand. Staggering down alleyways, trying to keep his balance on the ice, Spike was enjoying himself, which isn't  
strange for him.   
Finally, he lost Angelus in his last leg. He had a bit of quiet laughing as he walked along the wall toward the  
backdoor of a restaurant, showcasing a catered Christmas party. Not paying much attention to his path now, Spike  
heard the sound of cooing behind him, causing him to make a quarter turn and slip back on a patch of ice, hitting  
his head and sliding down the wall. He awakened to the sound of a lunacy that took the form of a song. He looked  
up from his place on the cobbles and caught the source of the singing.   
"Mmmm, give us tea and somfing to'weat- tra, la, lah. Tra, la, lah. Give us a roof and a place we can sleep- tra, la,  
lah. Tra, la, lah. We'll 'ave no porridge, we'll 'ave no wine, but we'll Be 'ome again tra, la, lah."   
Drusilla sat on a cabbage box in a gold, silken dress, combing her hair with a shard of glass, leaving her cheek  
scratched raw and bloody.   
"Uh, Drusilla?" Spike asked. "Where had you run off to?"   
"The Shoppe," she answered, making her way over to him. "I've gotten into it, cover from cover. The nestlings  
were shrieking at the coming of Our Father."   
"You can't mean Christmas, luv?" She grunted happily. Spike helped himself up and started out of the alley,  
forgetting all about Angelus, who had just found him. When Spike caught his dagger-like gaze again, he had a  
comical whim to hide behind Drusilla. She laughed softly and hummed, thinking it a lovely game.   
"Hmm, my Angel," she droned. "There is a bit of Christmas for us to 'ave, yet. I can't suffer this quarreling over  
one so cold as I." Dru wrapped herself in Angelus's coat, faking a shiver. "Ooh, I feel the wind!" Spike frowned.   
"If you plan rip my 'ead off," Spike growled, "then do it. As it is, I'm near to heaving, right 'ere in the snow."   
"Well, tis the season," Angelus joked, taking delight in Spike's jealousy. He turned to Dru. "What is Father  
Christmas to bring for ye, my love?"   
"Somfing common," Dru leered. "But I'll not 'ave an inch of it. Come wif me? I'll close the flue and stoke the  
hearth. Yeah...I'll 'ave a bit of Christmas meself, I will."   
"Won't that kill the man, luv?" Spike asked.   
"Kill 'im somfing fearful...." Drusilla sang her words and reached her hand out to the sky to wipe the moon. "Poor  
old dear. 'E's about to get 'is medicine, but good. I'll see 'im on a platter wif cranberries and maybe a muffin." She  
closed her eyes and thrummed. "Mmmm, cranberries..." Dru gave her left hand to Spike and her right to Angelus,  
slowly dragging them out of the alley and into the human world. She despised their idea that she should choose  
between them and give what's left to Darla. She preferred they all bed together.   
Blissfully, Drusilla held tight to her suitors' hands and wandered the streets of North East London, back to their  
current home, that was chosen by the briefly absent Darla. It was a charming but deserted inn, converted from an  
old Spanish restaurant. Just downstairs was a wine cellar, where the three entered. Their minions lounged  
wherever they could, but one chair was brought down and reserved for Darla.   
"I hunger," Dru complained.   
"Did you eat much tonight?" Spike asked.   
"Just a man or two," she admitted. "But not enough for a Christmas."   
"Dear God!" Angelus snarled. "What can I do to make Christmas go away?" Dru didn't respond. She was having a  
vision. She held her stomach and all but doubled over.   
"Mmm, ow!" she wept from pain. "I know of the passkey; Christmas won't come again this way again...." Spike and  
Angelus were rapt.   
"What did ye see, Dru?" asked Angelus, excitedly. "Is it the end? Can we finally make it happen?" Dru stood at full  
height again, almost recovered.   
"This sweet eve of mortal peace shall mark the knell of their pretty play. So it must be, we'll snuff out the lights." A  
simper came back to her lips. "Sh. Don't tell 'im? I'll make it special, if you don't tell."  
* * *   
Christmas Eve. The clock chimed ten. Drusilla paced in front of the hearth excitedly, drawing the skirts of her  
flaxen holiday dress away from the embers. She stirred the fire and fussed with the kindling, waiting for old Saint  
Nick. The vision she rattled off the others had been left unfinished. Dru told them the world wold end, and that  
they could make it happen, but nothing about how. She was too busy making Christmas.   
On the spiral staircase of the old cellar, Spike and Angelus sat stewing in Drusilla's delay. Angelus had spread  
himself out on the bottom steps, looking up at Spike, who sat like a gargoyle above him, watching him through the  
balusters. Both facing the inside of the spiral, they had something of a staring contest. Spike muttered to Angelus,  
as if apathetic.   
"Destroy 'the world as we know it', eh?"   
"Ey," he grunted. "That's the plan. And Dru's got herself deep in this. It'd be cruel for someone to take her out  
now."   
"Yeah, someone. God, how many times can you singe yourself before you learn: Don't put your tongue on the tea-  
kettle, and don't try to blot out the sodding world."   
"Maybe we'll carry it off this time, Will. Maybe ye should have more faith in me."   
"Maybe you should drive a poker-. Never mind. I'll keep me mouth shut."   
"Good boy."   
"But if you fall on your ass, I can say 'told you so'."   
"And if I don't?"   
"If you don't? You know whut? I give up...on all of it. Sod it. Sod you; sod Christmas; sod the end of the bloody  
world-. Sod trees and carrots and all, if I had my way. Sod all."   
"Now, there's a lad!" Angelus beamed, basking in a psychedelic glow of satisfaction. "Sod it all!" Spike got up in a  
little temper, jumped over the banister and onto the ground, and pulled Darla's chair over by the fire to sit. He  
tried to shake the image of a post-apocalyptic world from his thoughts.   
"'Sod it all.' He's gone off 'is jump." Spike's visage cheered as his turned to Drusilla. "Made any Christmas, pet?"   
"Enough for everyone." She slithered over to Spike's side and sat on the arm of the chair. "I 'ave all the music,  
sheets and sheets. Their turning it out for Daddy...." Drusilla ran her slender fingers over the top of Spike's head.  
She caught a dirty blonde strand with her fingernail and began to twist it. "We need a clip," she said absently. "Too  
hugger-mugger."   
"Sorry, luv." Spike flicked away Dru's hand. "Comes with the man."   
"I'll not have an unkempt man at my table," she moped, whisking her hand at the wall. "Shoo, away wif you. Give  
em a bowl and let em eat outside." Spike and Angelus looked at Dru then looked at each other with confusion.  
"Tell me I'm Victoria? When I'm her I'll fetch 'im down from a rooftop. I'll 'ave my platter and my pudding and he'll  
be the one who's sorry and in need of Christmas." She flicked her fingertips at the wall then turned back to Spike.   
"You alright, ducks? Do you need something to calm you down?"   
"Give us a buss for Christmas." She leaned forward to kiss the top of his head and made a disgusted face at the  
mess of his hair. Over his head, she mimed scissors to Angelus. Fixing his rakish eyes with hers, he crept over  
silently, licking his lips. "Oh, now?" she muttered. "Steal me away. To the Isle of the Good Angels...." Spike took  
her by the shoulders.   
"The Isle of whut?"   
"Oh...oh....! Don't shake me so!"   
"I'm not shaking you."   
"Never make like a fist to me! Screaming eagles, always striking 'er on the nose!"   
"Oh, very well. I'm sorry I shook you. Are we better now, luv?" She smiled at Angelus. "Whut are you looking at?"  
Spike turned around and jumped a bit, startled to find Angelus so close that quickly. "Jesus Christ! Give a bloke  
some warning!"   
"Lovely mettle," she said, "for the loveliest faces. All so very near, but there's a wall.... I'll 'ave it, though, and 'is  
hair is refined. Don't tell 'im."   
"Who, Dru?" Angelus asked, smirking and moving in. "Don't tell who?"   
"Shh!"   
"Tell Spike?"   
"No. Shush! Oh, I ought not to say such things! Not I!" Spike pulled himself to his feet.   
"I'm in the room, people! And unlike some of us, I'm not too wrapped up in a Jesus complex to notice." Angelus  
seized Spike up by his collar.   
"I'd mind my words, were I you."   
"Oh, leave up, Peaches! I don't fancy you the way you fancy me!"   
"Angelus?" Dru whimpered, taking a hold of his bicep and nuzzling his arm, making him let go of his pupil. "You'll  
bring the dancing lady? Wif perfumes to taste; I wunt to watch 'er...dance."   
"With her pink skirts," Angelus said, licentious smile entering and mutating his expression.   
"They'll be all too short- and she'll show off 'er ankles?"   
"Her knees, pet," Spike added. He sat again, sucking on his teeth and sulking. Dru laid her hand on his chest.   
"Won't you catch me? Hmm, will you? When I fell yesterday?"   
"Always," he answered, stroking her forearm.   
"You didn't. I'll not 'ave you lie to me."   
"Didn't?"   
"I fell. Yesterday, and you were so very far. And I fell off the park seat and into the alley and I tumbled- tumbled  
and tumbled. Wif the cats and the piano man."   
"Piano man?" Angelus echoed, looking back at something and smiling. "Alright, I'm confused."   
"Yeah!" she gasped. "He was there, making me a terrible sound, like pianos. I begged 'im and begged em all,  
spinning and then I made 'im stop...wif a piano." Spike was laughing to himself when he felt something brush  
against his hair. He was lifted to his feet by his scalp.   
"Someone's in my chair," Darla growled, euphoniously.   
"Ow!" he grunted. She cuffed the back of his head and took her seat, smoothing out her gold, silk Christmas  
dress. "I can sit where I damn well please!" he shouted, kneading his scull.   
"Then maybe you'd be pleased to sit your ass outside."   
"Don't make me tear you apart, princess."   
"Look, William, we've heard this story before, and we all know how it ends: You annoy; I inflict; you challenge me  
and I beat the snot out of you. Then you spend the next two nights sulking in the corner with your tail between  
your legs. It's not very attractive."   
"Spoiled bitch!"   
"Watch yer mouth, Will," Angelus warned.   
"Well, I don't know who she thinks she is!"   
"Someone who can knock you on your ear if you smart off to her again?" Darla offered.   
"Pfft- You and whut army?" he scoffed, closing in panther-like and lighting down his fists on the armrests, glaring  
at her stolid face. "So, you wunt some of old Spike again?"   
"No thanks, I think I've had enough of you."   
"We'll not fight," Dru interrupted. She crept onto Darla's lap, nuzzling her head. Spike backed off, he and Angelus  
taking particular notice of the girl-on-girl, in an almost mesmerized fashion. "Let's all be snuggles at Christmas. Did  
I say? We're going to destroy the world."   
"Again?" she asked. "Oh, honey, that never goes well."   
"Mm, fine. Puncture my dreams. It was going to be so lovely."   
"You can't just right it off, my love," Angelus defended. "Dru, won't you just explain it to her?"   
"Yeah, Dru," Spike chimed in. "She can tell you 'ow stupid it is."   
"Will; shut it!"   
"You shut it! Go on then, Dru. Tell them all about it."   
"I'll tell 'er," Dru murmured, "if you take us up in a cuddle? Hmm? Come to Mummy." Spike shrugged and planted  
himself on the armrest, slipping an arm around Dru. He gave her a squeeze and kiss on the forehead.   
"Big hug, poodle. Happy?" Angelus plunked down on the other armrest and gleefully wrapped his arms around his  
three, astonished kinsmen.   
"Uh...Angelus?" Spike stuttered.   
"Oh, was I huggin' on ye?".   
"A li'l bit, mate, and I don't recommend you tryin' it again."   
"Funny," Angelus sighed, squeezing them all tighter with a wistful smile, "but I'm not the least bit threatened. Well,  
I'll let that slide fer now. Gatherings are too few and far between, and it's gladdening to be in the cold embrace of  
my darling family once again. It's makes me feel warm on the inside and hard on the outside, and chewy all over.  
Like a rum ball."   
"Oh, well," Darla purred with complacency, "if I've have to go some way, it might as well be in a four way." Spike  
burst out in high-pitched, maniacal laughter. Dru and Angelus joined him, and Darla ripped the pocked watch off of  
his palm.   
"Bloody hell!"   
"That was for saying I'm a 'spoiled bitch'."   
"Well, excuse me for stating the obvious!"   
"You're an idiot," Angelus groaned, letting go of them.   
"Because I 'ad a watch glued to me 'and?"   
"No, yer a genius because ye had a watch glued to yer hand. I thought ye were going to keep yer mouth shut? If  
ye weren't my fledgling-."   
"Um, Angelus sir?" one of the cockney, vampire attendants started.   
"What now, Toby!?" he barked.   
"Bad time?"   
"I should say! Can't ye see I'm in the moment, here?"   
"Um, I fought I needed to inform you, sir- one of the minions 'as disappeared before the feed. I wouldn't 'ave  
bothered you if I didn't fink-."   
"Which minion, you little slime?"   
"Uh- s-s- Sophia."   
"And which one of ye is s-s-Sophia?"   
"The pretty, blonde minx I turned," Spike answered.   
"That mouthy wretch? I know she'll turn coat."   
"It's none of your bloody business if she went on prowl without checking in."   
"William! This is the last time I'll tell ye to shut up, lad! ...Ye drive a man to drinkin'. Toby, where did she go?"   
"Um, I- I don't rightly know, gov."   
"Well ye should've went after her! That li'l idiot could be trading with a slayer!"   
"But she just now left. I couldn't very tell you if I was fetchin' after 'er, now could I?"   
"That's it!" he boomed, vaulting to his feet and addressing the room. "It's insurrection! Ye've all been tryin' my  
patience tonight, so next one of ye to rile me or say somethin' cheeky gets a taste of my belt!" Everyone turned to  
look at Spike, who suddenly became quietly fascinated with the ceiling. "Now, if that's all, you go find that Sophy,  
and we'll get to the ritual. Dru, tell on."   
"Well," Dru started, as if it were lovely gossip, "quite everyfing is out of way, and we'll summon a plague from the  
'eavens! Hm, it came like genius I've seen! And all the peoples will 'ave gotten theirs, Germany and far eastern,  
and all bashed to rubble with their 'orses and kittens and Jews! Oh, save a kitten for me, Daddy? Lickadish."   
"...What?"   
"The words! I'll tell 'em again to the 'orsemen and they'll ride through the oceans! Lickadish- can't you see whut I  
been tellin' you!? We'll go to the churches, give a duty of blood to Ygg and the 'umans will curse themselves.  
Fightin' and bloodlust, until not a one stands left. Not even slayer."   
"Isn't that a little crazy?" Darla asked, scrunching her nose and mulling it over happily. "Still, the charm of a world  
war is enthralling."   
"But from a special church," Dru continued. "Built on the old ways, before Christmas ever was! In the old voice, 'e  
will 'ear us. But we mustn't make an evil, ugly site of 'im, or speak 'is name to warrant us, for 'e fancy's 'imself a  
good man. That would pay a fragrant price!"   
"I think I understand," Angelus started.   
"Oh, you lie!" Spike snorted.   
"I'll take Drusilla and the others to find her temple and start the ritual. Darla, find Sophy. Will, yer with her."   
"No, I'm with Dru. You can go find Sophia."   
"If ye go with Dru, ye won't get but ten feet before ye start up messing around."   
"Whut of it? She's mine."   
"Neither of 'em are yers," Angelus corrected, gesturing to Darla and Dru.   
"...One of them's mine."   
"For the love of God, Will!" Angelus grabbed Spike by his coat's lapel and started dragging him across the room  
and up the stairs.   
"Whut the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Spike growled. Angelus turned back.   
"Girls, go start the fun without us. We are findin' Sophy."  
* * *   
Ben chimed eleven. Spike and Angelus searched most of Northwest London- including the off-limits Highgate  
Cemetary- for over an hour without any luck. They ended up retracing their steps to Kensington.   
"She's gone," Spike groaned, taking a seat on a nearby stoop. "Let's just go home so you can 'ave your jamboree."  
  
"We should be back home by now. We'll search north, get into South Hampstead again, and check the reservoir."   
"Didn't you 'ear me? I said I'm finished, done. We're never gonna find the wench, so let's double back."   
"When did ye become so lazy? It's disgustin'."   
"Me? You're the one that sleeps from sunrise til near midnight."   
"I've been wakin' up."   
"For the last week! Check your Magna Carta, Peaches. You can't boss me into the sewers on Christmas, just 'cause  
I been givin' you lip."   
"Where does it say that?"   
"Section 21."   
"Malarkey."   
"Section 21, and I quote: 'Earls and barons shall not be amerced except by their peers, and only in accordance  
with the degree of the offence', especially not in the sewer, when it's Christmas and freezing, thank you so very  
much!"   
"You made it up."   
"Not the first part-. No, I didn't."   
"Fine," Angelus sighed, shuffling back to the steps where Spike sat. "We'll be on our way back, but if that lass is  
striking up a deal with the slayer, I get to say 'I told you so'."   
"And if she isn't?" Angelus placed his hands on Spike shoulders paternally, looking down on him, square in the  
eyes.   
"She's been hunting us for three months now."   
"Sophia?" Spike asked, facetiously. Angelus gave him a stern look.   
"The slayer can't know where we sleep, Will. Sophy is a coward and a detriment to us."   
"But none of it counts if the world ends by morning, right?"   
"But that's just it, brother, the world won't end. The wars will stretch throughout the centuries, country against  
country. Human's tossing themselves into the clutches of Death Himself. It'll be like the Garden of Eden. The  
perfect world reborn.... Do I see a smile? Come on." Unable to suppress a grin any longer, Spike's face burst out  
into an expression of maniacal bliss.   
"Second Coming, and whutall? Fine job of it, Peaches."   
"Well, I do try.... Don't call me 'Peaches'."   
Meanwhile, in the empty cellar of the vampire's nest, a pretty, perky little blonde came stumbling down the spiral  
staircase, bound around the middle, her arms pinned to her sides. At the top of the steps stood a stocky brunette,  
bruised and battle-worn, with a determined expression.   
"Where are they?" the dark girl asked of the other.   
"Their supposed to be 'ere," she replied, panic written on her face. "They were planning somefing. I swear, I 'eard  
it with me own ears!" The dark girl rolled her eyes.   
"Lied to by a vampire...why am I not surprised? Well, I suppose I must kill you now. Open wide." She took out a  
stake and leapt over the banister, onto the ground. The Slayer was poised to kill.   
"Wait!" The vampire noticed a note on the table and brought it to the Slayer. She read it to herself:   
"Forget about Sophia. We're at a greenhouse two miles Northwest."   
The Slayer slowly placed the note on the table, horrified at the vague but familiar address. She turned to the  
vampire and ripped the binding from her, ready to let her go.   
As for Darla, Dru, and the minions, they were preparing the farmland for there ritual. Drusilla had divined on a  
map the exact spot of the foundation of an old, pagan altar, which was destroyed and the land subsequently  
converted into a greenhouse. Inside, attendants busied themselves with blessing bowls and mistletoe. Darla paced  
around the center table, bathed in moonlight. She folded her arms and shuddered at a night that could chill the  
most stagnant of corpses. Dru watched the window stubbornly, waiting for her boys' return.   
"I say we start without them," Darla proposed, with a note of worry. "If we want to make this happen, and it has  
to be now-."   
"Fine," Drusilla languidly agreed, standing to full height. "The milk is fresh.... It's time we act and take the breast  
by the nipple."   
"...He really did drive you crazy." Darla smiled. "That's my boy. 'Leaps and bounds.' Shall we?" Dru smiled luridly  
and walked to the table. She took a blessed dagger from the table and raised her arms over her head with lunatic  
glee.   
"Wisdom rising from Well's deep roots;  
Runes of might roar in our minds;  
Up from the bairn-stock's eldest roots,  
Odin give answer, reveal the Gods' wills...."   
The demon boys tore into the cellar at vampire-warp nine, Angelus rounding the spiral stair and Spike leaping over  
the banister from the landing, lighting down near the table.   
"Ye need to stop jumpin' like that," Angelus warned, catching him up. "Yer liable to snag yer jaw on somethin'."  
Spike snatched up the note from the table curiously, Angelus reading over his shoulder. They looked at each other  
in a shared realization of irony, vital and now epidemic. This was the address of the late farmer, Emmet, from just  
hours ago. As Spike discarded the paper over his shoulder, Angelus was hit by a perfect memory. Emmet, with his  
last breath. He cursed Angelus with an unintentional clue. " 'She knows where I am'," Angelus whispered to  
himself.   
"Whut?"   
" 'I'm like a vicar to her- I groomed her, and raised her like my own- and when she finds what you've done to me,  
the angels will weep.' "   
"You're who's vicar?"   
"...Of course! The Chapel and the Gymnasium! Emmet! He's the bitch's watcher!"   
"Oh, nice." The both of them hauled ass back up the stairs. Back at the ritual:   
"By land, sea and sky," Dru sang on importantly.  
"By the bonds above and below;  
As we have given you praise,  
Let us receive the flowing blaze   
Of your blessing,  
To share by drinking."   
The minions brought the farmer's squat, old, English wife. They held her fast as Drusilla cut a hole in her neck with  
the dagger- the woman shrieked- and tore it across her throat like a smile. They all closed in to drink- somewhere,  
not far away, the slayer sped on foot across the heath, looking the stop the apocalypse, and a few lengths behind  
her, shrouded by the drapes of snow, Angel and William rushed to stop her and the ensuing massacre.   
"Now by the might of Frey and Freya, by the blessing of all the Aesir, may our strength grow with it, from good to  
good and gain to gain, throughout the turning year. All hail the God of War, and bare witness the death of-." A  
projectile pierced the glass wall, frightening the tethered, cold plagued horses outside. In the wake of glass stood  
a stubborn, little slayer, in fighting stance, her delicate fists clenched and her large, glassy green eyes narrowed  
willfully, with all her frazzled, snow covered hair like a wimple around her face and shoulders. Darla rolled her  
eyes.   
"Remind me to kill Sophy," she groaned. But her complaints and Drusilla's growls where cut short by a spirited war  
cry. Before the Slayer could process the corpse of her late Watcher's dead wife on the soiled earth, Spike had  
tackled her at the shoulders, pushing the two of them through the opposite, formerly intact glass wall. All the  
minions, followed by Angelus, went on after the scuffle, which seemed to be heading for the nearby barn.   
"Yes, cranberries!" Dru screamed, clapping her hands. Darla took her wrist calmly and started leading her away.  
"The feast is just beginning; where are we going off to?"   
"We..." Darla started, a hint of guilt and cowardice in her manner. "We are going 'bye-bye'."   
"Will there be nog?"   
"A cellar full. Come on, precious." Dru toddled off after Darla, and as they fled to the horses for the comforts of  
home, the bell in the tower was poised to ring midnight; the window of time was closing. But to the impetuous  
blonde demon thrashing a slayer in the moldy hayloft, time was not the object.   
Yes, thrashing. Throwing, pommeling, punching, kicking, and gloating. He seemed to have her on the ropes until  
the lighter. Yes, the lighter. The minions fled, realizing almost immediately that a barn full of hay instigates unholy  
bonfires like nobody's business. About the only thing that burns brighter than "nobody's business" is Spike. Angelus  
realized this and couldn't help but watch from a safe distance. He never cared to bask in the carnage when it was  
Darla in a bad way- and anyway, she could handle herself. Nothing to his knowledge had ever ripped through her  
like this.   
But as the struggle went on and the flames began to rise, something in him fought to intercede. Maybe it was the  
slayer's skills overmatching William's, or the mulish way the young vampire remained in the slaughter, waiting for  
the tables to turn. Maybe that old Christmas spirit had bit down on him for a mouthful, or maybe he'd never put off  
turning tail long enough feel guilty before. Whatever the cause, he cussed himself in Gaelic and rushed in  
headlong. Twelve bells.  
* * *   
Christmas mourning. The window of time came and went. Angelus opened his eyes to the soft candle-lit room in  
which he'd been abandoned. He was used to that by now. But feeling his strength return, the vampire crept out of  
the cold, linen swathed bed. Into the hallway outside his chamber he ambled in his long nightshirt, holding his  
wounded arm that was left cleaned and dressed, soon to be on the mend. Drusilla passed him in a dither, holding  
a pitcher of water. She stopped, self-conscious and self-reprobating.   
"Don't look that way," she muttered. "I'd like to see you turn a better party off with all the glass and...unwelcome  
peoples." He passed her and headed for the door he'd seen her leave, looking for Darla. She left the party early  
and it was time to pay the piper. But she was nowhere in that little suite. Just a large bed, showcasing a witless  
lump- a scurvy, snotty, debauched excuse for a legacy. He sat at the bedside, watching the man-pire sleep.   
Battered, torn, and already attended to, Spike slept soundly. Too soundly. Angelus begun to flick his burn-scarred  
ear.   
"Up," he muttered to Spike. "William, I'm talkin' to ye, lad!" Spike grimaced and fought Angelus' hand off Britishly.   
"Ey, quit!"   
"Then wake on up!" he giggled, in his best taunting, big brother voice.   
"Bugger off, Peaches, I'm mad as it is. If I could just now, I'd kill you for last night." Angelus stopped, appalled.   
"Last night? Ye mean when I fought off the slayer and trawled yer ungrateful ass out of the flamin' bloodbath, at  
personal risk to my own life, I might add-."   
"I was in control; everything to plan! Then you jump in last minute and nick all the glory for yourself. I could've  
killed 'er, but no. You couldn't let me-."   
"Let ye die? I should've. Should've bled ye to death the night I laid eyes on ye." Spike was quiet and sullen for a  
moment, then looked back up at his sire.   
"And you mean that, don't you?"   
"...Wouldn't say it if I didn't."   
"Fine. If I was ever gonna thank you...."   
"What?"   
"Hm, whut? Nuthin'. I didn't say anything."   
"Oh."   
"...Thanks."   
"Welcome."   
"Pfft. Good."   
"...M'sorry"   
"Did you kill 'er?"   
"Yeah."   
"Excepted."   
"Better except.... Li'l brat."   
"Poofter."   
"Shut it!"   
"Suck it!"   
"I will smack ye on the mouth, ye horrible, bastard child!"   
"Go to hell!"   
"I'm takin' ye with me!"   
"Try it!"   
"Dare me to!"   
"I just did! Whut are you gonna do about it?" Angelus was quiet for a minute, then dove into foppish giggling  
again. "Whut?"   
"We have fun, don't we Will?" 


End file.
